


Intoxicated (Rewritten)

by startraveller776



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Drunk Vulcans, Drunken Kissing, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Humor, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 00:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21027191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startraveller776/pseuds/startraveller776
Summary: Amanda Grayson sets out to make nice with Sarek, the infuriating Vulcan ambassador to Earth. Her future career prospects are on the line, after all. There's only one problem: the ambassador isn't quite himself.





	Intoxicated (Rewritten)

**Author's Note:**

> I had some issues with the original version of this fic (which is also available to read in my works here). I meant to clean it up a little, fix the couple of problems I had, but the rewrite has turned into a bigger beast than I anticipated.
> 
> I know it's fanon (or perhaps book canon, too, though I haven't read those) that Vulcans don't kiss and/or they find the practice illogical and/or unsanitary. This is the route I took with the original version of this story. However, onscreen canon has shown differently. I've taken that into account with this update. 
> 
> If you read both versions, and find you like the original better, I won't be offended! :) 
> 
> I used the Vulcan Language Database for this story. Translations are in the end notes (though I tried to make it easy to understand the words and phrases through context).

**INTOXICATED**

Amanda Grayson excused herself while her date was engrossed in a debate about trade ethics. She slipped out onto a wide balcony, drawing her wrap tighter around her shoulders and letting the door mute the soft lilting music and hum of a dozen conversations at tonight's diplomatic ball. She inhaled the crisp air, drawing toward the opposite side. The night was unusually clear for a San Francisco autumn, the stars twinkling brightly in the sky mirrored by the lights dotting the city beyond. She should be moved by the magical view, but her thoughts were morose gray clouds.

She rolled her eyes at herself. That smacked of the hyperbole she was becoming known for in certain circles. Well, with a certain _person_ in particular.

Stifling the urge to growl, she leaned over the railing, counting her breaths as they drifted away in lazy white puffs. Everything she wanted was _so_ close, but now impossibly beyond reach. She'd received her doctorate in early education last month, survived a year-long internship at the Vulcan consulate relatively unscathed—just in time to apply for the teaching position that recently opened at New Horizons, the school that served the families of those in the Federation Diplomatic Corps stationed on Earth. It was the gateway to eventually snagging one of the prestigious off-world jobs. Her resume was impeccable, if light in experience, but she'd been sure that her tenacity and enthusiasm would more than make up the difference. The initial interview with the headmaster had gone off without a hitch. All that was left was a meeting with a member of the board—hardly more than a formality—and she'd be well on her way.

Her confidence withered into trepidation when she learned that board member was to be none other than Ambassador Sarek. When she'd crossed paths with him during her time at the consulate—far more often than she cared for—things hadn't exactly gone well. If he wasn't glowering at her in unspoken disapproval, he was voicing it.

"Miss Grayson, if you cannot sufficiently convey the protocols we require at the Vulcan embassy, I shall have to cancel future tours for young students. Their presence today was disruptive," he'd said in his deep, cold Vulcan tones when he called her into his office after a field trip.

She scoffed. "They were perfectly respectful. Yes, they might have gotten a little loud, but that's what children do—_human_ children—when they're excited!"

He canted a brow at her. "Only children?"

She glared at him, but bit back the invective that came to the tip of her tongue. "I'm just saying," she explained evenly, "that you can't expect humans to behave like Vulcans—especially children. Whatever happened to _Kol-Ut-Shan_?" He stared at her with that cursed austere expression, and she backed away, raising her hands. "But don't worry. I'll make sure to sufficiently convey those protocols next time."

If only that had been their worst encounter. Amanda propped her elbows against the cool railing, dropping her head into her hands with a groan. She hadn't been able to keep her temper in check for a simple interview last week. Stymied by anxiety, she'd fumbled the _ta'al_ and the formal Vulcan greeting. Her usually pristine Vuhlkansu sounded as garbled as if she'd had a handful of marbles in her mouth. Of _course_, Sarek hadn't let it pass without remarking, in acute detail, just how unsuitable her attempt was. She grit her teeth, determined to be a model of cool composure.

After nearly an hour of blunt critiques and an exhaustive listing of her shortfalls, all couched in thinly-veiled comments about general human inadequacy, Amanda snapped. She stood up and, ripping the PADD containing her application out of his hands, proclaimed: "Du lau-shitau wilat ha'ge tor-ri ha'zehl-vulaya!"

It wasn't until she left the building that icy reality washed over her. Had she really just told the Vulcan ambassador to stick his logic where the sun didn't shine?

She spent the next two sleepless nights wondering how thoroughly she'd destroyed her future. Sarek was the least of her worries—and he was worry enough. His father, Skon, was _the_ Federation Ambassador of Vulcan. He had the authority to have her career grounded permanently before it sputtered to life. And now that her internship had ended, she didn't have access to the consulate anymore. She couldn't slip into Sarek's office and beg for mercy. Stalking him outside of the building wasn't an option, though she'd considered it—until Erika, her roommate, reminded her that security would have her hogtied before she could get within three meters.

Amanda managed to get into the ball at Federation headquarters, thanks to Erika's older brother, Roland. He was an attaché to the Terran ambassador, and he offered to let her be his plus-one. She might have even appreciated the opportunity to spend the evening with the good-looking, charismatic man if she weren't so focused on repairing the damage she'd done to her future. Each turn she took on the dance floor with him, she was only able to offer distracted responses to the funny anecdotes he shared about his travels. Instead, she scanned the room for Sarek. She found him dressed in formal robes among a group of other Vulcans, all looking as comfortable as a Klingon at a yoga retreat. As if sensing her gaze, his eyes met hers with piercing scrutiny. By his peaked-brow expression, she gathered that her chances at making some kind of restitution were slim.

"Don't be intimidated by him," Roland said, recapturing her attention. "Vulcans seem far more stern than they actually are."

Amanda snorted. "I _know_ Vulcans. I spent the last year working for them, remember?" She glanced at Sarek again and shivered when she found him staring at her still. "That one is in a class by himself."

Roland huffed a laugh. "I suppose. Did you know that Earth is his first posting?" Amanda gave him a look of disbelief, and he nodded. "It's true. He's actually an astrophysicist—or was. Can you imagine going from the sciences to having to deal with illogical, emotional humans all the time on a cold, wet planet?"

Amanda's cheeks flushed with a tinge of guilt. For all her complaints about how unfair Sarek had been in his assessment of her, she'd hadn't precisely given him the benefit of the doubt either. She sighed. "Roland, you're going to be an incredible diplomat one day."

Roland beamed at the compliment, flashing a dimpled smile, and for a breath, Amanda could almost forget that she had no other purpose tonight than to enjoy his company.

After a lively foxtrot, Roland deposited her with a group from the Terran embassy and went in search of refreshments. Amanda took the opportunity to look for Sarek once more, but he was nowhere to be seen, not even among his entourage. Had he left already? She hid her chagrin, smiling politely instead at those around her as they debated over which embassy threw the best parties. Roland returned with a glass of wine for her, and the conversation turned to more serious subjects. After a half-hour, Amanda whispered to Roland that she was going to get some fresh air.

Turning her eyes up at the glittering sky, she figured there was no use wallowing over missing the ambassador. She would have to make the most of the night, and maybe, if she was lucky, Roland might consider letting her tag along to another diplomatic social. Grandma Sarah always said anything could be accomplished with enough perseverance, and persevere Amanda would--even if it involved getting arrested. But only as a last resort. She laughed softly at herself and pushed off the railing with a wistful twirl.

And slammed into another body.

"I'm—" she began, but cut off when she saw whom she'd almost knocked over.

Ambassador Sarek peered down at her, dissecting her with his dark eyes. Embarrassment burned from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. She must have looked like a silly child just now, and she had to blink back tears of frustration. She was never going to catch a break with this guy!

"Miss Grayson," he greeted her with that resonating bass, and for an irrational heartbeat, she wondered if Vulcans sang.

She shook the errant thought away. If the universe was giving her an opportunity to salvage her future prospects, she wasn't about to behave like a giddy school girl. She sucked in a deep breath. "Ambassador, I'm sorry. I—"

"An apology is unnecessary," he interrupted, and she ground her teeth. "You could not have anticipated my presence. Therefore, your collision with me was unavoidable."

She kept from rolling her eyes, only just. At least he didn't tell her that her speed of rotation was inconsistent. "No—I mean, yes. I am sorry that I bumped into you. But I wanted to apologize for last week when I..." She couldn't bring herself to repeat that awful insult.

"When you told me that I might place my logic where light does not refract," he finished for her. He cocked his head. "I presume from your apology that the statement is derogatory, but I fail to understand its meaning. Is this a reference to a black hole?"

Amanda pressed her lips together against a burst of nervous laughter. "Oh, it's a reference to a hole, all right. Just not that one." He furrowed his brows, but she held up a hand to stave off further questions. "I'd rather not explain. I'm mortified by my behavior, Ambassador—more than you can possibly know." She stood up straight. It was now or never. "Listen, I know we don't have the best track record."

Sarek's upswept brows drew further downward. "Track record?"

"We don't get along well," she clarified with a cringe. That was putting it mildly.

"Curious," he murmured, sounding perplexed. "I have found our interactions to be most instructive."

Amanda kept her mouth from dropping open, barely. "You have, sir?"

He made a hum of agreement. "You may address me by name." He turned, walking toward the dark, secluded corner of the balcony. When she didn't immediately follow, he paused and gave her a pointed look over his shoulder.

She cast a glance toward the glass doors, wondering why he wanted more privacy. With a nervous flutter in her stomach, she joined him. He stood, taking in the view, hands clasped behind his back. The ambient moonlight softened the angular lines of his face, gentled the severity of his features. He looked more relaxed than she'd ever seen him. She'd always known from a clinical standpoint that he was handsome, but it wasn't until this moment that she understood why her girlfriends badgered her for every detail about what it was like to work in the same building as the "hot, young—by Vulcan standards, anyway—ambassador." Heat blossomed in her cheeks at the revelation, and she was grateful for the cover of night.

Career. _Focus on your career_. She cleared her throat and almost wavered when he turned that lancing gaze on her. "What I was trying to say before, Ambassador—"

"Sarek," he corrected.

"What I was trying to say before," she began again, "is that despite the differences we may have had, and despite my impulsive outburst during the interview, I'd like to—"

"I changed the protocols."

"—request a... What?" She frowned at him.

"Your argument that human children cannot be expected to behave as Vulcan children was logical," Sarek explained as if this had been the topic of conversation all along. "The protocols have been adjusted to accommodate the human need for emotional expression."

"I..." Amanda faltered, absolutely baffled. "Ambassador, that was months ago."

"Sarek," he corrected again. "It was sixty-four days, four hours, and sixteen minutes ago. Miss Grayson, you are breathtaking this evening."

Amanda gaped at him, certain she'd heard wrong. He'd said that last bit in the same breath—with the same dispassionate tone—as his calculation of time. "I'm sorry, Ambassador, did you just say that...I'm breathtaking?"

"My name is Sarek," he replied. "Is that not the proper expression to indicate that I find you aesthetically pleasing?"

She worked her jaw, but couldn't make words come out. Was he flirting with her? _Did_ Vulcans flirt? This had to be a dream.

"Have I offended you?" he asked, the corners of his mouth dipping in consternation. "I understand that it is customary for a male to comment on how desirable he finds an attractive female during a social event such as this."

Amanda's eyes bulged. She was tempted to pinch herself. There was no way this was happening in real life.

"Perhaps I used an inappropriate idiom. Would 'you are a vision tonight' be more correct?" He drew near to her, studying her with pinched brows. "Are you ill, Miss Grayson?"

"No?" She mentally kicked herself for sounding unsure. "No. I'm okay. I'm just—" she shook her head, "—a little stunned." Now that he was close enough for her to get a good look at him, she realized that his relaxed composure seemed a tad off. "Ambassador, can I ask you a personal question?"

"I remind you again that you may address me by name," he said. "And you may make any inquiry you wish."

She blinked at him. What was the deal with his name? Was that a Vulcan thing? "Are you all right?"

His mouth became a thin line. "This term, 'all right,' has multiple meanings. Please specify."

Amanda gnawed on her lip, unsure what "all right" would be for his people; she'd never spent time with them socially. She cobbled together a question that she hoped would make better sense to him: "Does your current behavior fall within normal parameters for Vulcans?" There. That ought to be scientific enough.

His eyes glazed over as he seemed to give her question serious consideration. After a couple of beats, he focused on her again. "I believe it does not."

She raised her brows. That didn't bode well, though she already had her suspicions. "And I'm guessing this isn't normal behavior for you, either."

The change in his expression was so subtle that if she hadn't spent the last year working for Vulcans, she would have missed it entirely. He looked almost pleased. "You have inferred correctly, Miss Grayson. In spite of your emotional whims, you have a sound grasp of logic—a quality I find particularly admirable."

She stared at him in shock. That was a compliment, albeit a slightly backhanded one. Now she knew with certainty that he wasn't at all himself.

"I have learned tonight," he said, turning back to the field of glistering stars, "that chocolate is a common ingredient in many of your heated beverages."

Something niggled in the back of Amanda's mind at the word "chocolate," but she couldn't remember why it was important.

Sarek glanced at her. "Chocolate has a similar effect on Vulcan physiology as alcohol has on your species. Perhaps even more potent, though an extensive comparitive study has never been conducted and is unlikely to be in the future."

Amanda's eyes widened as the implications sunk in. "You're _drunk_?"

He blinked in confusion. "If you are asking if I drank the beverage, then yes. Four cups, to be precise, before I discovered the oversight."

She bit the insides of her cheeks against another swell of laughter. Not that a Vulcan getting buzzed by accident was comical—okay, it was, a little bit. But she was also offended on his behalf. What kind of caterer doesn't bother to research who they're providing refreshments for?

"'Drunk' is slang for 'intoxicated,'" she explained. "Do you need me to go let someone know about the chocolate—or maybe have your assistant take you back to the consulate?"

Sarek waved a hand in dismissal. "Though I find your concern unusually gratifying, Miss Grayson," he said, "it is unwarranted. The matter has been resolved with the caterer, and those who erroneously imbibed the toxin have gone into seclusion until the effects have abated."

"I gather there isn't anything your healers can do—like a hypo spray to counter the effects—considering the lack of studies involving chocolate," Amanda said with a half-smile. "And it's probably too minor an ailment to require the _tow-kath_."

"A logical conclusion, Miss Grayson. Yet again you prove the surprising depth of your understanding of our ways."

There was nothing back-handed about that compliment, and her heart fluttered at the naked praise. "I like to know the people I work with," she deflected, uncomfortable with this new, open Sarek. "If I'd done my internship at the Andorian embassy, I would have carefully researched their customs and become fluent in their language."

"But you did not intern with the Andorians." He took a step closer to her.

"No, I didn't." Her words came out entirely too breathy. Something was shifting in their encounter, and she needed to bring it back to where it was supposed to be. "Ambassador—"

"Sarek," he said. "You will address me as Sarek, and I will call you Amanda."

"Sarek," she relented, though saying his name almost felt too personal for the man she'd called her nemesis on occasion, "shouldn't you have gone into seclusion, too?"

"Indeed," he agreed. "That had been my intention."

"Then why didn't you?"

He cocked his head, brows pinching together as if she should have been able to figure the answer out herself. "You were alone, and I desired to converse with you." His timbre deepened as he murmured in his native tongue, "Tu stariben t'nash-veh ahm svi'nuk if sanoi aifa kaluk."

The air suddenly became too thin, and her eyes rounded. It wasn't that he'd just told her that he liked the way she said his name—though that alone was startling—but he'd used the intimate _tu_ instead of the formal _du_ when referring to her.

"Kevet-dutar Sarek," Amanda said, retreating a few centimeters, "sos-eh du dang-fun-tor k'vath."

_Ambassador Sarek, perhaps you should return with the others. _

He raised a brow, but didn't respond to her suggestion. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and drifted farther into the dark recess of the balcony. Again, he expected her to follow. Again, she did—against all reason.

"'Intoxicated' is used to describe something other than the state of inebriation, is it not?" He glanced at her. "For instance, I could say, 'Amanda, I find you intoxicating.' It is used in the same context as 'breathtaking,' 'captivating,' 'enchanting,' or even 'hot,' correct? There is another word that I believe falls into this category, but I find it too crass."

This would be hilarious if she wasn't at the center of it. A large part of her was incredibly flattered that he insisted on telling her how attractive he found her—without adding an insulting qualifier like "for a human"—but she knew sober Sarek might be distressed by drunk Sarek's words.

"Ambassador—"

"Sarek."

"Sarek, do you want me to find a transport for you?"

He brought up a hand in a subtle slashing motion. The Vulcan gesture loosely translated to "I politely refuse and do not wish to speak of it again." Well, then. She might as well let this run its course. At least she could say she tried to keep him from embarrassing himself. If she were a spiteful woman, she could use this to blackmail him into giving her another chance at the teaching job, but that wasn't in her nature. She did allow for a tiny hint of vindication, though.

"Amanda," he said, "I understand all of the terms except for 'hot.' How does this constitute extreme attractiveness? If one is 'hot,' should not one seek medical attention as this is indicative of one's immune system having been compromised? Do humans somehow find illness physically appealing?"

Laughing softly, she held up her hands to stop the geyser of questions. "Ambass—" She swallowed down the rest of the moniker when he leveled a grave look at her. "I think, maybe, it has to do with how the other person's attractiveness makes you feel. Like, they must be hot, because when you're near them, you feel like you're burning up."

Sarek raised his brows. "That is logical." He gazed at the night sky and whispered, "I was created in the Forge, tempered and refined by sandfire. Yet, I burn for thee. In thee, I am unmade and formed anew. No longer two katras but one."

Chills prickled across her skin. "That's beautiful."

"These are the words of Torvak, a poet before the time of the Awakening. He speaks of the—" Sarek abruptly cut off, his eyes catching hers before dipping to take her all in. There was something hungry, almost feral in that brief glance, but it passed so quickly that she was sure it was a trick of the light.

"It would appear," he continued, "that this usage of 'hot' has connotations that could apply to Vulcans as well."

She was reminded again of how her girlfriends would sometimes delineate all the ways Sarek made their knees turn to jello, and she could not un-see it now. Oh, it was so much easier when he was nothing more than a thorn in her side!

She leaned her back against the railing, pulling at her shrug with a sigh. "Maybe we could talk about something else?"

"A query then, Amanda?" He moved close to her, and a light breeze carried his very alien scent to her nose, exotic and sharp with spice.

Was what he had contagious? Her brain felt like mush. "What would you like to know?"

"I would like to understand why humans so often engage in the act of kissing." There was curiosity in his tone—_acute_ curiosity—as his gaze flicked to her mouth.

She cleared her throat. "Vulcans don't kiss? Is it an unsanitary act for you?" she asked in an attempt to alleviate the building tension.

"Your supposition is logical, but simplistic," he answered. "We, like humans, have a high concentration of touch receptors in our lips, however, it is not the most sensitive part of our bodies." He raised a hand, palm facing toward her, pinky and ring fingers folded down. "This is."

She stared at his fingertips, refusing to think about how a Vulcan might use those. "Oh."

"As followers of the teachings of Surak," Sarek explained, "we do not engage in acts solely for the sake of sensation. For these and other reasons, we have not developed complex parameters regarding this function as humans clearly have done. But make no mistake, Amanda, Vulcans do kiss when it is appropriate and logical to do so."

A fresh wave of goosebumps flitted over her arms, danced across the back of her neck. She started to argue that there was nothing logical about kissing for humans, but realized that there was. Even those times which were "for the sake of sensation" served some purpose, if only to blow off steam.

She rubbed at her arms. "It sounds like you've already done a thorough study on the matter." She hoped this would put an to the discussion, especially since her thoughts had begun to travel down the dangerous road of wondering what Sarek would deem a logical reason for a lip-lock—and what it would be like to kiss a Vulcan.

"Not as thoroughly as I would prefer." He leaned in, face only millimeters from hers. "I have yet to conduct an experiment in order to better comprehend the various forms of human kissing. I wish to do so now."

At once, a hundred butterflies seemed to come to frenetic life in Amanda's stomach. Every ounce of blood in her body shot straight to her face. He wanted to kiss her. An hour ago—even thirty minutes ago—she would have found the notion laughable. But now... Now she was tempted to give him the demonstration he was requesting.

"Fascinating," he murmured. "Your pupils have dilated, the red undertones of your skin have become pronounced, and your rate of respiration has increased. What human emotion causes this set of biological changes?"

That was the slap of reality she needed. He may want to kiss her, but it was out of scientific curiosity, nothing more. And here she was, starting to believe she'd magically stepped into one of those rom-com vids she liked to watch with her girlfriends after a rough week—this one featuring a drunk Vulcan and a hapless human gal who together find an epic, intergalactic love against all odds.

Which one of them was tanked again?

"Ambassador," she said, ignoring the way his eyes narrowed. "I'm sure any human would do for your experiment, so I think I'll pass."

His brows pulled downward. "You err in your assumption. From my observations, several forms of human kissing are shared between those who are or intend to be mated. In this, you, alone, are qualified." He tilted his head, nose nearly bumping hers, and breathed, "Tu nam-tor mazhiv-yon, Amanda."

She kissed him. Because that's what you did when a handsome Vulcan compared you to the one of the most fiery things on his home world and told you that you were the only one with whom he wanted to engage in this act. She chose not to think of the larger connotations in his statement. She chose not to think at all.

She leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his. Her kiss was tentative, and he met her in kind, lips warm and soft. She was surprised by a wisp of something powerful in the contact, an inhuman emotion that she couldn't hope to name. She knew Vulcans were touch telepaths, but she thought it only worked in mind-melds.

Too soon, he withdrew, though his demeanor hinted that he hadn't disliked the experience. "Curious."

She breathed a quiet laugh, feeling a little tipsy herself, though she'd had only a few sips of wine. This was _nuts_. "Curious?"

"Another variation?"

Before she could voice an agreement, his lips were on hers, and this time it was not a meek request; it was a bold declaration of intent. The experiment was going off the rails, for how could it be a scientific analysis of _human_ behavior when he was projecting that very _Vulcan_ sentiment directly into her veins somehow? Attraction. Need. Possessiveness. Want. So much _want_. It was all of these and none of them at once, building in waves, crashing over her.

His fingertips grazed her temple, and she nearly drowned in that dark, bewitching _something_ that lurked beneath his veneer of detached logic. With a gasp, she broke away from him, whispered his name in awe. He held her gaze, his breath coming through parted lips, languid but not unaffected. Her heart pounded against her ribcage as she stared up at him, waiting. Waiting for what? For him to kiss her again? Yes. Yes, that.

He obliged her unspoken desire, mouth over hers once more, insistent, blistering—

"Amanda? Are you out here?"

Amanda tore herself out of the kiss, peeled her fingers off of Sarek's robes—when had she grabbed them?—and stepped back. "Roland Bradley, attaché to Ambassador Davies," she explained in a whisper to Sarek when his brows pinched together. "He's my..." _Date_ felt too intimate, and it was strangely important to her that Sarek didn't get the wrong idea. "I came with him tonight."

She put a little more distance between Sarek and herself, moving out of the shadows. Or rather, she tried to. Apparently, the Vulcan wasn't on the same page as he followed closely behind—_very_ closely.

"There you are!"

Roland's easy smile told Amanda that he hadn't witnessed what had transpired on the balcony only moments ago. She felt relieved even as heat blossomed over her cheeks. What had she been thinking, making out with a drunk Vulcan? Oh, right. She _hadn't_ been thinking.

Roland raised his hand in the ta'al and gave the traditional greeting in flawless Vuhlkansu: "T'nar pak sorat y'rani, kevet-dutar." Forget someday. He was a fantastic diplomat already.

"T'nar jaral," Sarek returned, not giving away his compromised state—except for the fact that he was practically hovering over Amanda. "Mr. Bradley, if I understand human social protocol correctly, it would be courteous to inquire if you are enjoying this gathering."

Amanda let out the breath she'd been holding. They might be able to get through this encounter without incident.

Roland raised his brows and gave her a look that seemed to say "See? I told you he wasn't so bad." She smiled weakly back at him. He had no idea.

"I am having a good time, thank you," Roland said. "I see Amanda found you."

"She did not," Sarek said. "I found her." His tone lost a bit of its impassivity, revealing an edge. She couldn't begin to guess the reason for the change. Did he just inch toward her a little more?

Roland's smile dropped a tick in confusion. "Oh, okay."

"Yep," Amanda intervened before Sarek could say another word. "He did. He found me, all right. Out here on the balcony." Stop. Just stop. She was as bad as the ambassador.

"Alone," Sarek supplied unhelpfully, and she had the urge to elbow him in the gut.

Roland looked between the two of them, clearly noticing the weirdness there. Thankfully, he didn't comment on it. "I'm glad you two have had a chance to resolve things."

"Actually—" Amanda began, but Sarek spoke over her.

"Regrettably, there are still unresolved issues between Amanda and myself," he said. "I wish to continue our discussion privately—if you will excuse us."

Roland's eyes narrowed a fraction, and he glanced at her as if silently asking if she was okay. She was definitely _not_ okay, but she wasn't in any danger.

"It's fine," she said. "I do have some things to _talk_ with the ambassador about." She hoped the pointy-eared alien understood the important word she emphasized.

"Sarek," the aforementioned ambassador murmured low enough that only she could hear.

She pressed her lips together to hold off the manic laughter bubbling up her throat. "I'll come find you when we're done," she said to Roland. She gave him something resembling a reassuring smile.

Roland searched her face for a beat before saying, "Sounds good. I'll see you inside." He saluted Sarek with the customary Vulcan farewell, and then headed back to the ballroom.

Amanda watched his retreat, her thoughts a tangled mess. As much as she'd like to say she tried her best to encourage Sarek to go home and meditate away the chocolate in his system, that the onus was on him for whatever transpired afterward, there was a difference between letting him ramble on about her attractiveness and having an all-out smoochfest with him.

"Mr. Bradley is a...suitor?" Sarek asked behind her.

She turned around, stepping back so she could meet his eyes instead of his chest. Her traitorous heart sped up at the way he looked at her—as if she were the only significant thing in the universe. She couldn't un-see the symmetry of his features, she couldn't un-kiss those lips, and she couldn't un-experience that heady, alien emotion locked inside of him.

What a fine pickle she'd gotten herself into, as Grandma Sarah would say.

"No, he's just a friend," she admitted. Lying about Roland wasn't an option; lying about anything had never been an option for her. Her honesty had gotten her into trouble more times than she could count—the majority of which involved the man in front of her.

"I am unbonded," Sarek said.

Amanda wasn't sure what he meant by telling her that, and she decided it was probably better to ignore it altogether. One of them needed to be logical. "Ambassador—I mean, Sarek," she hurriedly corrected herself before he could, "about what happened before—"

"You are not..." He frowned faintly. "I do not know the proper human term for this. How does one say that one is not mated?"

"Single," she answered against her better judgment. Because the irrational part of her that wanted to re-kiss and re-experience was insanely curious to see where this line of discussion went. "I'm single as opposed to being a part of a couple."

"Under these conditions," he said, "kissing is both appropriate and logical according to your mating rituals, is it not? I wish to continue our studies of the matter." He leaned forward, and oh, how she wanted to keep playing this game.

Instead, mustering every vestige of self-control she had left, she laid her hand lightly against his chest to stop him. "But is it appropriate and logical for a Vulcan, especially when you're not yourself?"

Sarek raised a brow. "I can assure you, Amanda, that I am myself."

She smiled, dropping her hand. Apparently all it took was some chocolate and a couple of kisses—mind-blowing, knee-buckling kisses—for him to transform from annoying to endearing. "What I mean is that you're in an altered state."

He stared at her for a protracted moment and then nodded. "I understand," he said. "You wish to continue our exchange when I am not inebriated."

She laughed, shaking her head. That wasn't what she meant at all. "Okay," she said. "Let's talk when you're sober." She felt a pang of sadness. He'd probably never speak to her when he came to his Vulcan senses, but it was the right thing to do.

The glance he gave her mouth was the only warning she had before he pressed his lips against hers. The contact was brief, and when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. There was a soft caress in her mind of that undefinable thing that was at the core of him. She was startled to find a whisper of a smile turning one corner of his mouth.

"I have read that among humans an agreement can be sealed with a kiss," he explained. Just how much had he been researching this topic? "Consider this my token for ours."

He backed away, fingers parted in the ta'al. "This has been, perhaps, the most instructive of our interactions. Until we meet again, Amanda."

Not likely. "Sochya eh dif, kevet-dutar." She returned the salute with a wan smile and walked away.

She paused at the doors to the ballroom, casting a wistful glance at the ambassador. He stared back at her, and she raised her hand with a final wave before slipping inside.

* * *

Amanda sat on the loveseat in her tiny living room, PADD propped on her knees. She held a mug of tea in her hands, letting the warmth seep into her fingers as she stared blankly at the screen. Last night had been such an utter debacle, she didn't have the first clue how to fix it. Sarek had mentioned that the effects of chocolate on Vulcans might be more potent than alcohol for humans. Maybe he was drunk enough that he wouldn't remember their interlude.

She snorted. Based on her history with him, she would never be so lucky.

Sighing, she tried not to think about that inebriated make-out session or the dreams that followed later. One was a repeat of her interview, only instead of picking apart her qualifications, Sarek recited sultry Vulcan poetry as he came around his desk to reach for her. His fingertips were searing on her temple, startling her awake. In the next dream, she was in an unfamiliar place, a desert cave, but not one she'd ever seen. Dry and hot, but beautiful with red and gold striations woven through the rock. She and Sarek knelt facing one another, and he looked at her with raw desire, brushing the backs of his feverish fore and middle fingers against her cheeks, consuming her from the inside out with a maelstrom of that alluring, foreign emotion. Before he leaned forward to cover her mouth with his, she woke, panting, sweating.

Amanda closed her eyes to shut out the memories and took a sip of her tea. Amidst all this insanity, she couldn't get Roland's gentle reproach about her mischaracterization of Sarek out of her head. Had the ambassador truly been so caustic in their encounters over the last year? Or had she transposed human emotions and motivations behind his cool, disinterested exterior? Was it possible that in being relatively new to diplomatic work, he didn't understand the social gaffes he committed when interacting with her species?

She replayed her botched interview with him, and realized with chagrin that while he had laid out hard truths about her background and experience, _she_ was the one who attributed disapproval and thinly-veiled disgust to his words. And she'd been doing it her entire internship.

_Oh, Amanda. How naïve can you be?_

She set her mug down on the coffee table and picked up the PADD. She needed to apologize _again_, and she figured a communiqué was her best bet at this point. Unfortunately with his position, a direct message wasn't possible, especially when it wasn't for business purposes. Only a handful of people—most either in the diplomatic corps or the upper echelons of various governments—had his personal line. Everything else went through screeners, one of the many jobs she'd done at the consulate. She couldn't exactly type, "Hey, so I would like to talk about our chocolate-induced indescretion at the Federation ball. Please contact me at your earliest convenience. Thanks ever so much."

Wait. She _could_ come at it from a business standpoint. Yes, she could say that she had questions about the interview. Not a lie; she did. Like, did she lose out on the job?

Congratulating herself on her resourcefulness, she opened a fresh communiqué. Her door chimed before she could write the first word.

"Erika!" she called out absently as she began typing.

The door chimed again. Amanda opened her mouth to call for her roommate, but then remembered she was camping with their friends—a trip Amanda would have been on if she hadn't gone to the ball. In hindsight, roughing it in Mount Tamalpais would have been the smarter choice.

She stood up, banging her shin against the coffee table, causing her mug to wobble and splash hot tea on her bare leg. She wiped at the burning liquid, breathing an Andorian explicative, and yelled, "I'm coming, for crying out loud!" when the blasted chime came a third time.

She opened the door, ready to snap at whoever thought it would be a good idea to show up unannounced on a Sunday morning, but the words died in her throat as her eyes landed on the familiar upswept brows and pointed ears of the Vulcan who currently plagued her thoughts.

She blinked several times, certain she was hallucinating. "A—ambassador?"

"Miss Grayson," he greeted her. His gaze flicked to her attire. "It appears I have come at an inopportune time."

She looked down at herself with a smirk, wondering how "breathtaking" she looked now with her hair thrown up in a messy bun and wearing her pajamas. Oh, no. _No_. Her braless tank top and boxer shorts pajamas. _Of course._ Because no breaks were ever caught by this girl when it came to that man.

Her skin burned with embarrassment as she crossed her arms over her chest. She almost agreed that his timing wasn't great and sent him in his way, but who knew when—if ever—she'd get a chance to speak with him again.

"I'm available right now. Just—" She stifled a groan. _Why, universe? Why?_ "Would you like to come inside?"

He studied her with an inscrutable expression. "If it is not an imposition."

"It isn't." She moved aside, gesturing for him to enter.

He nodded, stepping past her into her modest apartment, and followed her to the living room. She hastily gathered her discarded PADD and mug, grateful that her roommate was a fellow neat-freak.

"Give me a minute to put these away and change into something more appropriate. Make yourself at home." When he raised a brow, she clarified, "I mean, have a seat or look around. Make yourself comfortable."

Once she was sure that he understood, she darted to her room. She tossed her PADD on her bed, set her mug on the nightstand, and tore through her closet. What could she change into that said she was mature and smart and capable of having a grown-up conversation without devolving to spiteful insults or playing a round of smashing lips? She settled on a white, long-sleeve blouse and a pair of slacks. She glanced at her jewelry box, but ultimately decided to forgo a necklace. This probably wasn't a social call. No need to go all out, especially if he was here with bad news. She did throw a brush through her hair and pull it back up in a less-messy bun.

When she returned to the living room, she paused at the threshold, observing Sarek. Out of his bulky, heavily embroidered formal robes, he wore a plain black stiff-collared _to-pal_ that closed diagonally across his chest and reached his ankles. A wide _san-zhel_, also black, wrapped around his waist, complimenting his lithe form. She held back a sigh, finding it rather rude that she'd become hyper-aware of how keenly attractive he was.

As she entered the room, he looked up from the photo he'd been studying on the wall. It was one of her, Erika, and Roland together at the Grand Canyon.

"That's my roommate, Erika Bradley," Amanda explained as she drew near. "Roland is her brother."

Sarek glanced at the photo. "This place," he said, "is not unlike Vulcan."

Last night's dreams came rushing to the forefront of her mind, the red-gold cave in particular. But that had merely been a fiction of her subconscious—just a conglomeration of images she must of seen of his home world. Right?

"Have you been? To the Grand Canyon?" she asked.

"I have not had the opportunity."

An awkward silence passed between them, and Amanda's heart thumped heavily in her chest. She felt like she was waiting for an unhappy verdict or an impending break-up, which was ludicrous. There had to be a relationship first in order for there to be a break-up. The tension was suffocating.

"Ambassador," she began, but felt suddenly tongue-tied. Because she was sorry for what happened at the ball and she wasn't.

"I am not here in an official capacity," he said, taking a step toward her. "'Sarek' will suffice." He sounded so imperial that it raised Amanda's hackles.

She grimaced. When had she become Pavlov's dog? Let the ambassador speak, and _ding!_ She was automatically defensive. Her knee-jerk reaction was to assume he was being coldly authoritative. But he was merely stating facts.

Last night had been different. He been so earnest, so genuinely inquisitive. It had been easy to get a bead on him. But now it seemed they'd slipped into their old roles—or maybe she'd slipped into hers. Not today, though. She was going to make a sincere effort to give him the benefit of the doubt.

She forced a bright smile. "In that case, please call me Amanda."

He tipped his head in a slight nod. "That is acceptable." He clasped his hands behind his back. "My purpose for this visit is three-fold. First, I must tell you that I have recused myself from the selection process for teaching candidates at New Horizons."

Her eyes widened. "If this is because of what happened on the balcony—"

He held up a hand. "It is not, Amanda."

Goosebumps prickled her skin when he said her name. It was somehow _more_ than it had been the night before.

"I recused myself after our interview," he continued. "My knowledge of the relevant human social protocols was incomplete, otherwise I would have withdrawn when I learned that you were the applicant I was to evaluate."

Her frown was for him this time. "I don't understand."

"According to the dictates of your culture," he said, "to others I would appear to be biased in my assessment of your qualifications." His lips became a thin line. "This notion is...alien...to me as logic cannot be biased."

His explanation didn't clear much of anything up. On one hand, she was relieved to know that she hadn't irreparably damaged her chances at getting the job. On the other hand, why would anyone think he was biased? And would they think he was biased for or against her? He spoke before she could give voice to her questions.

"Second," he said, "I have come to offer an apology for my behavior when I was 'drunk,' as you put it. I regret any residual harm it may have caused you."

Amanda hated the blush creeping over her face. "Actually, I think I'm the one who should be apologizing. I should have forced you into a transport long before things got out of hand."

He lifted a brow. "With your diminutive stature and inferior physical strength, you could not have forced me to do anything I did not wish to. Your guilt is misplaced."

_Ding!_ Inferior? She crossed her arms and gave him a flat look. "With your inability to understand emotions, let alone play on mine, you couldn't have talked me into anything I didn't want to do. So your guilt is misplaced, too."

Mature, smart, and capable of having a grown-up conversation without losing her cool? Clearly not. In a fit of pique, she'd just told Sarek that she'd wanted to kiss him on the balcony.

That it was true—well, at least _after_ he recited poetry and told her she was hot—was beside the point.

He searched her face. For what? She couldn't begin to guess. "Be that as it may, I acted illogically," he said, his gaze sliding away from her, "and without your explicit consent. I deeply regret this."

Amanda's stomach made a sour turn. Not that she should have been surprised, but hearing him say he regretted last night hurt a little. "Listen, Sarek, you really don't have to apologize. I seem to remember that I kissed you first. I'm pretty sure that implies consent. We can pretend like it never happened."

Sarek met her eyes again. "I cannot," he said. "You misunderstand. It is not the kiss—or kisses—that I apologize for, but that I initiated a brief, partial mind-meld. To have done so without your permission is inexcusable—even in my state of inebriation."

She reached up to her temple, feeling the ghost of his fingertips there, recalling the devouring emotion that poured into her. Had she been laid as bare to him as he was to her in that moment? Panicked, she tried to remember what she'd been thinking, feeling then. 

"I think I need to sit down." She staggered over to the small couch and dropped onto it, head in her hands. She supposed she should be upset that he'd taken that liberty, albeit drunkenly—and maybe she would be later—but right now she was more worried about what she might have projected to him. "What did you see or hear in my mind?"

He took long, slow breath. "As it was not a full mind-meld, I merely experienced your immediate emotions."

That was little comfort to her. Because what had she been emoting then? Surprise? Pleasure? Maybe at the first kiss. But a sinking feeling in her gut told her that when those warm Vulcan fingers touched her during the second kiss, she was feeling something that was, at the very least, adjacent to lust. Where was a gravity well to suck you into oblivion when you needed one?

"I'm sorry for," she mumbled into her palms, unable to look up at him, "...for what I was feeling in that moment. I'm sure it was inappropriate."

There was a long silence, and she began to agonize that she'd seriously offended him until, voice stiff, he said, "It is my understanding that the manner of kissing we engaged in is meant to increase physical desire in both individuals. Therefore, your response was, in fact, appropriate." He paused before adding quietly, "The experience was...agreeable."

She let out a mirthless laugh. "Agreeable?" She glanced up, and the rest of her sardonic retort came to an abrupt halt. Because he was looking at her _that way_. As if she were a puzzle he found terribly consuming.

"Quite," he murmured.

The word hung between them, heavy with unspoken subtext as he held her gaze, and Amanda's heart wobbled in her chest.

"This brings us to my third purpose for this meeting." He paused, jaw working, sharpening his angular features. "If I may?" He indicated the empty space next to her.

She nodded for him to take it, and as he sat rigidly, angled toward her with back straight and his hands on his knees, she caught a whiff of that subtle exotic scent she remembered from last night.

"Amanda," he said after a protracted beat, "after much consideration, I have deemed it logical to court you. I wish to begin this process, but I am limited in my understanding of human mating practices. 'Dating' or even 'casual relationships' are not the Vulcan way."

She stared at him, mouth falling open. _What!?_ "You've deemed it logical to _court_ me?"

"Is this not the correct term to describe socializing with one another with the intended purpose of assessing the viability of a permanent pairing?" He cocked his head, appearing genuinely perplexed. "You did express a desire to revisit the possibility of continuing our more...intimate...association when I was 'myself' again."

Amanda's eyes rounded, and suddenly the room felt uncomfortably small, the air unbreathable. She stood up, needing to put a little distance between her and that confounding man. "Please tell me that kissing you last night didn't initiate some kind of Vulcan mating ritual."

There was the tiniest quirk in the corner of his mouth. Was that... Was that almost a smile? Did he find this _amusing_? Was that possible?

"No more than it would initiate a human one," he answered with frustrating ambiguity.

"Why?" she asked as she tried to pace away the disorienting blend of trepidation and unexpected giddiness in her gut. "How is it logical to court me? We fight every time we cross paths!" She jabbed a finger toward him. "If you were a Tellarite, it would make sense, but a Vulcan wanting a 'mate'"—she made air quotes with her fingers—"who argues with him all the time? That's the definition of illogical!"

Sarek rose from the sofa, stepping into her path, forcing her to come to a stop. "You are being irrational, Amanda."

She threw her hands into the air with an incredulous laugh. "I'm being _human_, Sarek," she countered. "This is what you'll get if you court me. Emotions! Lots and lots of illogical emotions that I don't always understand myself! With some hyperbole thrown in for good measure!" She sucked in a deep breath to cut off the rest of her manic tirade.

Sarek seemed wholly unaffected by her outburst, and her face grew hot with embarrassment as he studied her wordlessly. There was a softness in his gaze that made her heart lurch into her throat. Just how badly had she misread him this past year?

"You can't actually want this," she whispered. "I haven't been very nice to you."

He inched a hair closer to her. "I find that I do," he replied in a quiet baritone. "You have ever been forthright and often logical, if not unemotional. Nam-tor ri thrap wilat nem-tor rim."

_There is no offense where none is taken. _

She found a tenuous smile stretching across her mouth. "Quoting Surak?"

"Indeed."

There it was again, that strange but not unwelcome tension blossoming between them. Warmth poured through her veins as she realized that testing the waters of a romantic relationship wasn't entirely implausible. Not after last night. Not when he was looking at her like this, turning her insides into gelatinous goo.

They might kill each other in the end, though. Or rather, she might kill him.

"If you," he said, taking a step back from her, "find my proposal objectionable, I will withdraw it and take my leave of you."

"Wait." She unconsciously followed his retreat, licking her lips. The movement caught his gaze, and she was pretty sure she was about to make a big mistake. "I have to know."

It was the only warning she gave him before closing the gap between them, tipping her chin up with eyes closed in nervous anticipation. In a trembling breath, his mouth was on hers, kissing her with a comfortable familiarity, as if he knew exactly how to make her want to melt. She almost laughed. Because maybe he _did_ know—after that partial mind-meld. She chose not to think of what it might mean for other amorous activities. Especially with that tantalizing alien emotion radiating from him—more subdued, _controlled_, but still potent. She couldn't doubt that _want_ he kept hidden so well. It was unsettling, thrilling.

On instinct, her hands snaked up the smooth fabric of his coat, questing for his jaw, to caress, to hold, to encourage him to sink deeper into the kiss, but he grasped them before they could reach their target, drawing them downward and away, releasing them as he pulled back from her. The rejection twisted in her middle, her brows furrowing in confusion.

"Not yet," he murmured as if in answer to her unspoken questions. "You still have much to learn about my species as I do yours. But may I presume this means that you accept my courtship of you?"

She grinned, relieved that he hadn't changed his mind, even though she was a little dizzy from this turn of events. "Consider that kiss a token for our agreement."

Years later, when Spock asked her why she married his father, she was tempted to admit that it was because Sarek's kiss was intoxicating.

**~FIN~**

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Kol-Ut-Shan: Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations (IDIC), also "The glory of creation is in its infinite diversity"  
ta'al: Vulcan hand salute  
Du lau-shitau vu ozhika wilat ha'ge tor-ri ha'zehl-vulaya!: You may place your logic where light does not refract!  
tow-kath: healing trance  
Tu stariben t'nash-veh ahm svi'nuk if sanoi aifa kaluk: You speak my name in a manner which pleases these ears.  
Tu/Du: You (the VLD does not differentiate between the two, so I took some artistic license based on my studies of French)  
Kevet-dutar Sarek, sos-eh du dang-fun-tor k'vath: Ambassador Sarek, perhaps you should return with the others.  
katra: soul  
Tu nam-tor mazhiv-yon: You are sandfire  
T'nar pak sorat y'rani, kevet-dutar/T'nar jaral: There is no translation in the VLD other than it's a formal greeting and its proper response (aside from "kevet-dutar" which means "ambassador"). I wanted something other than "Live long and prosper" or "We come to serve."  
Sochya eh dif, kevet-dutar: Peace and long life, Ambassador.  
to-pal: coat  
san-zhel: belt  
Nam-tor ri thrap wilat nem-tor rim: There is no offense where none is taken.


End file.
